by Lee Gimenez
“I’ve been reading the news, Megan. The assassination…I’m sorry for the loss of your president. I know you two were good friends.”
“It’s tragic,” she replied. “I’ll miss him.”
“Megan, I know things must be difficult right now, and that a lot is up in the air. But my board of directors has asked me how this affects our deal. As I told you, they agreed to it and would like to proceed.”
“As would I. But it was all negotiated with Wilson. Now that he’s gone.…”
“Is the deal dead then?” he pressed. The thought of owning 5,000 pristine acres in Wyoming now seemed elusive.
“No. Absolutely not,” she replied, but there wasn’t much confidence in her voice. “I just need to get President Taylor involved. I’m sure he’ll recognize what an excellent solution this is.”
“I see. I’m assuming this may take some time?”
“I’m afraid so, Henry. Things in D.C. have to settle down. So much has happened.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll call you next week – after I have a chance to meet with the president.”
“Of course. If I can do anything to expedite the matter, let me know.”
Mueller replaced the receiver and sipped his coffee, now cold.
***
Los Angeles, California
Steve McCord stared out the office windows where the shots had been fired. It was his third visit up here and he now realized something was terribly wrong.
The grassy plaza below was still ringed with crime-scene tape and barricades, but there were less police in the area. The remaining people on the ground looked like FBI techs and Secret Service types.
There were several techs still in the office he was in, scouring the place for trace evidence.
He glanced out at the other office towers, specifically at the roofs of the buildings.
There was no way the Secret Service stationed there on the day of the shooting could have missed it. The assassin had only made a small hole in the window, but it still didn’t track. They’re too well trained, he thought. It doesn’t smell right. It’s either incompetence or something much worse.
Keeping his thoughts to himself, he walked past the techs and headed out of the office.
Moments later he was back on the sidewalk in front of office building.
Deciding that his cell phone might not be the best idea considering what he suspected, he scanned the area in both directions for a pay phone. A rarity nowadays, he finally found one four blocks away.
Dialing her number, he waited for her to pick up.
“Blake,” she said.
“Hi, beautiful,” he replied.
“Hey, Steve. You still in LA?”
“Yeah. Listen, something strange is going on.”
“Like what?”
“Something’s not right.”
“Spill it.”
“Can you get to a pay phone, Erica? I’m calling from one now. I’d rather not talk over this line. Here’s the number.”
“Call you back in five, Steve.”
He hung up and waited for her call. The pay phone rang seven minutes later and he picked it up.
“Okay, this better be good,” she said, out of breath. “I just ran six blocks to find this damn thing.”
He laughed. “The exercise will do you good. Keep your pretty ass in shape.”
“You’re not going to touch my ass anytime soon, if you don’t start talking.”
“Okay,” he replied, chuckling. Then he turned serious. “Like I was saying, something’s not right. The assassin fired from an office building across from the plaza. The Secret Service sharpshooters who were posted on the nearby buildings would have spotted him.”
“Maybe they screwed up and missed him, Steve. I read the crime-scene report you sent me. The hole the shooter made in the window was small.”
“It’s possible, but unlikely. Those guys are well trained. And there’s another thing.”
“What?”
“The Service would have canvassed the area thoroughly before the event. They would have searched any empty offices in the nearby buildings.”
“You’re right, Steve. So you think somebody on the inside is involved?”
“I’d put money on it.”
“What do we do?”
“I’m going to run it up my chain of command at the Agency, see what happens. But I’ve got to be careful. If this is a conspiracy, there’s no way to know how far up it goes.”
“Okay, Steve. I can’t talk to anyone at the Bureau about it. Not many people I trust there. But I’ll share it with someone I do trust.”
“Who’s that?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“I understand, Erica. I’m heading back to D.C. tomorrow. See you soon.”
***
Special Operations
Marine Corps Detachment
Training Facility, Building 14
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Bobbie Garcia looked at his computer screen and smiled. The wire transfer had just gone into his secret Cayman bank account, effectively doubling his previous balance. Retirement from the Marines was much closer now. And in 16 days, when everything was all over, the amount would quadruple. That was the deal the general had promised him and the general had never let him down.
Garcia studied the numbers closely, reflecting on how the rest of his life would unfold. A sweet job in private security work, with one of the black-ops organizations the Pentagon kept on retainer. His wife Maria would be happy then. They’d have two kids, maybe more. Then a dark thought crossed his mind. She can never find out. Maria can never know where the money came from. Raised Roman Catholic with a strict sense of right and wrong, her view of him would be shattered if she found out. Then a solution popped in his head. Once I get the new job in private security work, I’ll tell her I received bonuses from it. Satisfied with that, he closed the file and turned off the laptop.
He glanced around his cramped office in Building 14, the facility the general had appropriated for his team. The office furnishings were basic, with plain metal desks, metal folding chairs, and ubiquitous military green paint on the walls. But the place had one important distinction. It was in a separate area, well away from the other Special Forces units such as Delta, SEALs, and Green Berets housed at Fort Bragg. Although all Special Forces teams were secret, black-ops, need-to-know units, Garcia’s team was the only one that didn’t go through the normal chain-of-command. They reported directly to the general. Garcia’s team was officially part of MARSOC, the U.S. Marine Corps Special Operations Command, which is headquartered in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. But his specific team had been assigned to work at Ft. Bragg on the top-secret BlackSnow operation.
There was a knock at the door and Sergeant Thomas stepped in the room. The man had a wide smile on his face.
“I’m guessing you saw your bank account?” Garcia asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Sweet, huh?”
“Very.”
“Have a seat, Sergeant.”
Thomas sat, and Garcia leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands on the desk.
“Sergeant, the team has done well over the last couple of weeks. Extremely well. We’ve accomplished all of our objectives. Notify the men they can take tomorrow off. We’ve got more to do and I want them fresh.” He paused, then said. “That includes you too, Sergeant. Take tomorrow off.”
“Thank you, sir. How about you? You going back home?”
“No, Sergeant. I’ve got something else that needs to be done.”
***
Garcia peered through the binoculars at the large home. The general had been very specific with his instructions on this task. Observe only, nothing else. It seemed odd to Garcia, considering how much damage his team had already inflicted. But he didn’t question it. He was a Marine, and Marines followed orders.
15 Days to Zero Hour
The Oval Office
&n
bsp; The White House
Washington, D.C.
President Taylor sat behind his desk and adjusted his tie, while a female assistant touched up his makeup. Two television cameras had been set up ten feet in front of his desk, along with a teleprompter. Floodlights lit up the room, the glare bothering his eyes and making him perspire. He felt beads of sweat on his forehead and the assistant quickly dabbed them away.
His stomach churned as he went over the speech in his head. This would be his first nationwide address as president, and he didn’t want to blow it. The election was only a year away and he had to make a good impression.
Off to one side of the room stood several members of the Cabinet, along with General Corvan. He gave them a quick glance, then looked down at his custom-made suit, which was buttoned at the waist. The jacket felt tight, though he’d paid a ton of money for it. Finally he decided to unbutton it. Momentarily relieved, he swore to himself again he would lose weight.
The producer standing by one of the cameras started a countdown with his fingers as the makeup girl hurried away.
The countdown went to zero and the producer gave him the signal to begin.
“My fellow Americans,” Taylor began his voice somber, “our nation has suffered a deep tragedy. As you all know, my esteemed predecessor, President Wilson was assassinated. Our country mourns for him and our prayers and thoughts are with his family.” He paused for effect, then continued. “My only wish is to serve this great country with the same high level of integrity and distinction as President Wilson.”
Taylor spread his hands on the desk. “I wanted to speak with you today for several reasons. First, I wanted to assure you that our great democracy continues without interruption. I have retained all of President Wilson’s Cabinet members in order to insure a smooth transition. There will be no disruption of government services. Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, food stamps, housing and welfare programs will all continue as before.” He paused again, wanting to make sure that sunk in – people who received government assistance always voted.
He clasped his hands in front of him. “I also wanted to speak with you about a second matter. As you may have read in the papers, or watched on the news, there has been much speculation regarding the person who assassinated President Wilson. The killer’s corpse was found at the scene. The man obviously committed suicide after the killing, not wanting to be captured alive.”
“There have been many rumors about this man,” he continued, “and I’d like to put those rumors to rest. The Justice Department, the FBI and the Secret Service have just concluded an in-depth investigation, and I’d like to share that information with you. As American citizens, you are entitled to know the truth.”
Taylor leaned forward in his chair for emphasis. “The assassin’s name is, or was, Jing Zhao. He was a lieutenant in the army of the People’s Republic of China. Officially, he was a military attaché, stationed at the Chinese consulate in Los Angeles. More ominously, he was also a spy, working for China’s infamous MSS. This organization, the Ministry of State Security, is the Chinese government’s largest and most active foreign intelligence agency. Additionally, we have determined that the weapon he used to assassinate our president was a high-tech sniper’s rifle, available to only to select Chinese black-ops units. We have traced the bullets used to a factory in Shanghai, China. Further, we have been able to ascertain that this killer used secret information obtained by the Chinese consulate in Los Angeles in order to plan and execute this horrific act. The Chinese government hacked the website of our Secret Service in order to find specific information about the president’s visit.”
Taylor voice took on a hard edge. “From these and other still classified details, we have concluded that the Chinese government instigated and perpetrated the assassination of President Wilson. It’s no secret that the Chinese want to become the pre-eminent power in the world, and they chose this shocking act as a way to destabilize our country.”
He lowered his voice so that it was no more than a hoarse whisper. “My fellow Americans, I want to assure you that I will not rest until we have avenged this cowardly act. I know you will agree with me on this. Much like the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, this act will go down in infamy. As Commander-in-Chief, I have just issued orders raising the military readiness of our armed services and have raised our nuclear capability to DEFCON 2. We do not expect another treacherous Chinese action, but we will be prepared if one were to take place. As we move forward over the next days and weeks, rest assured that the safety and security of every American will guide my actions. Thank you, good day, and God bless America.”
The TV cameras blinked off and Taylor reclined in his chair, took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.
“Turn off those damn lights,” he yelled, and a moment later the floodlights went dark.
The Cabinet members came over to his desk, and one by one congratulated Taylor on the speech. He ignored them, stared at Corvan. “What did you think, General?”
“It was flawless, Mr. President. It struck the perfect tone of statesmanship, humility, and outrage.”
Taylor nodded, then stood up, loosened his tie and took off his jacket, which he placed on the wingback of his chair. “Damn, it’s hot in here. Somebody, get me a glass of water.”
Alice hurried out of the room for the water, while the Cabinet members moved away from his desk, but lingered, talking among themselves by the cameras.
“What’s next, Mr. President?” Corvan whispered.
Taylor continued to mop his brow. “I go upstairs to my private quarters,” the president replied, his voice barely audible. “And get drunk.”
***
Fairfax, Virginia
Erica Blake leaned against her Explorer, crossed her arms and waited. She was parked in a rural park about five miles from the Fairfax County police offices. Night was falling and there were few people remaining in the park. Most were packing gear in their cars, obviously ready to head home. The park lights that lined the roads were beginning to glow.
The maintenance workers must have just mowed, she thought, because the aroma of cut grass hung in the air. It was a warm evening, with no breeze. Erica was hot and she removed her blazer and placed it on the hood of her SUV. Glancing at her watch, she realized with irritation that he was late.
Ten minutes later a car’s headlights swung around the bend and an unmarked Chevy Impala pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to her SUV.
Detective Gray climbed out of the car and the two shook hands. She noticed he was wearing the same rumpled suit he always wore.
“How’s the case going?” she asked.
“It’s not,” he responded, his face grim. “They took me off the Carpenter case. Gave it to another detective. To a guy that’s retiring next month.”
Erica shook her head slowly. “Figures. No question now there’s a cover-up going on.”
“My thought exactly.”
She leaned back against her SUV, trying to determine if she could trust this man. But the fact he’d been taken off the Carpenter case spoke volumes.
Finally, she said, “My ex’s been in LA, poking around the site of the assassination.”
“The spook?”
Erica smiled. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s not officially on the case, ‘cause the CIA can’t get involved with domestic matters….”
Gray chuckled. “So what’s he doing there?”
She shrugged. “You know how that goes. Anyway, he says there’s a good chance it was an inside job. Thinks there was collusion between the killer and the Secret Service.”
Gray’s jaw dropped. “Shit…you kidding me?”
“No. I don’t want to get into the details, but take my word for it, this info is solid. Steve’s never been wrong before. He wasn’t the perfect husband, that’s for sure, but he’s a hell of an agent.”
Gray was quiet for a time. Then he said, “I watched the president’s speech today. He said the Chinese government
did it.”
“Yeah. I saw it too. I don’t know what to think. But something doesn’t jive.”
The detective rubbed his jaw. “What are you going to do?”
“I can’t sit on this info, especially since there’s also the cover-up of the senator’s death. Too much is happening, too fast. I have a feeling it’s all connected, somehow.”
“Be careful, Erica. Sounds like some powerful people are involved.”
She laughed. “They already took me off the Carpenter case. What else could they do to me?”
He didn’t laugh back, his expression stony. “Just be careful, will you?”
She held out her hand and they shook. “Careful is my middle name.”
They got back in their vehicles and Erica fired up her Explorer. Then she headed out of the park and in a few minutes was back on the state road.
An hour later she was in Bethesda and soon after she eased her SUV unto the long driveway of the senator’s stately home.
As before, the thin maid answered the door and showed Erica to the same large, book-filled study.
She sat on the expensive couch to wait.
Moments later Senator Megan Lewis walked in the room, dressed in a casual pants suit, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail.
The senator beamed. “What a lovely surprise, Erica.” The woman sat down on the opposite couch and crossed her legs.
“Sorry I didn’t call for an appointment, Senator. But I needed to speak with you as soon as possible.”
Lewis waved a hand in the air, gave her a mischievous grin. “We’re old friends. You can drop by anytime.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Lewis turned serious. “What do you have on your mind? The Carpenter case?”
Erica leaned forward on the couch. “That…and something else. Last time we met, I told you I had a strange feeling about the president’s assassination. I thought there may have been a connection between the two deaths.”
“You found it?”
“Not exactly. But I do have information regarding the assassination. Steve’s been in LA looking into it. What he found is troubling. Very troubling.”